At this time of the year, late evening and early night in Canterlot still provide enough light for Night Hunter, the Commander of the Nightguard, which is Princess Luna’s branch of of the Guard mirroring Princess Celestia’s Royal Guard, to get a decent amount of daily paperwork done early without straining his eyes in the artificial light of the many sources available in the castle, from electric lights through firefly lamps to old-fashioned candles. While bat ponies possess excellent night vision, those unused to working during daytime usually find it easier to see even in dim natural light than with the use of a lamp. For a pony close to his forties, Night Hunter is in peak physical shape, which is visible despite his dark green hair shrouding his muscular build in the shadows and hiding his bulging muscles, clearly showing that the Nightguard is more at home in the gym or the streets than behind a desk. His black mane is cut into a short mohawk as is a general Guard standard to avoid getting grabbed in a struggle. Not that it’s a requirement for anypony past the rank of pavement pounder, Night Hunter just got used to it during early training and it stuck.

A single, meaningful, and recognizable knock on the door stops him from signing requisition forms, and he calls out:

“Come in, Your Highness!”

A midnight blue alicorn lets herself in, briefly pausing to look around the office before closing the door behind herself. Despite being the head of the Nightguard for over half a decade now, Night Hunter hasn’t changed the layout of the office since the last Commander and Luna’s close friend Sharp Biscuit, died. Why? It’s as simple as the difference between “a” Nightguard Commander and “the” Nightguard Commander. One day, Sharp will fade from the memory of those who served with him, but it won’t be soon, and keeping the office organized his way helps.

“Good evening, Night Hunter,” she greets him, “How is the paperwork treating you?”

“It’s shaping up to be a quiet night,” replies Hunter, raising an eyebrow at the Princess’ visit, “Unless you’re bringing me something interesting, that is.”

“I might be,” Luna shoots him a mischievous smirk, “How do you feel about griffons?”

“Decent with barbecue sauce,” Hunter shrugs, ”Is some new delegation from the Griffon Empire requesting nighttime bodyguards?”

“Something much more interesting,” Luna walks around the office as she speaks, stopping by every familiar piece of furniture, “My sister received a request for assistance from the Holy City. They suspect that their recent trouble is being caused by rogue changelings- not the exact words they used, but upon further questions the griffon ambassador had to begrudgingly admit that he failed to distinguish between the hive changelings and some rogue branch. Griffons are poorly equipped to hunt changeling criminals, so they reached out to us.”

“Did I miss some news about actually effective changeling-hunting spells?” Hunter relaxes in his chair, puts his forelegs behind his head, and looks up at the ceiling, “Especially ones that can be used without a horn.”

Luna snorts and shakes her head.

“You didn’t. Even our static changeling detection spells are far from perfect, and that’s me choosing my words carefully. Why do you think my sister is asking us?”

It clicks for Night Hunter.

“You want to send 65536 to the Empire and, on top of that, to the Holy City itself? I’m all in for tough love but this is overkill,” he formulates it as a joke but he knows that Luna loves the changeling drone now serving in the Nightguard as if it was her foal, and there is more than a hint of worry in his voice, “Besides, if there are changelings whom the griffons can’t catch in the most guarded place of the Empire, they’re bound to be skilled infiltrators or at least an organized group led by one. No offense to 65536, but that’s way out of a drone’s league.”

“Hunter, you wound me,” Luna puts a hoof on her chest, “While I do believe that 65536 is more capable than everypony thinks, Miss Gem will be coming in disguise as well. However, her aversion to violence, while admirable, isn’t something the griffons share, so I’m asking you to accompany them.”

“Gem?” Hunter sighs. While hasn’t had much contact with the mentioned young changeling mare living in Canterlot in relative obscurity, he’s heard a thing or two about skills vastly above her age. What exactly the extent of changeling-specific skills means is beyond Hunter, but maybe he’ll learn soon enough, “You’re pulling out the big guns. And if I’m guessing correctly, you want me to go so that you can say you’re sending your best because if you just wanted physical protection for Gem and 65536, there are better Nightguards. Bladehoof comes to mind.”

“I’m pulling out the biggest guns, mister I-live-at-the-castle-gym,” Luna sticks her tongue out at Hunter, “Unfortunately for Bladehoof, griffon culture is highly androcentric. You are the best pony for multiple reasons, with your build being only one of them.”

“Ah yes, I’ll be the strong but not so smart hunk. What do they call it in the spying business - honeypot, honeycock in case of a guy? Come to think of spying, why isn’t the Royal Guard or the Equestrian Intelligence Service involved? Why us?”

“Griffon Black Ops don’t like EIS operations on their turf, and the Royal Guard is considered to be common grunts by the Empire, which-”

“Which means that neither the involved griffon nobles nor anyone from the lower strata of society will cooperate with them. When are we leaving?” Hunter finishes Luna’s sentence, nodding.

“Glad to know you’re on board. The Black Ops will be sending an airship to pick you up in three days, during which you’ll pack and name your temporary replacement. The usual route using a Manehattan ferry and then weeks of train travel would take too long.”

“Got it. Is that all?”

“One more thing,” Luna’s horn flashes and the new issue of Smiley’s Scribbles materializes on Night Hunter’s desk, open on the final page. Hunter quickly skims through it, “Twilight Sparkle has already organized the exchange but my sister insists on sending a bodyguard with her. I’m thinking Gloom.”

“Yes,” replies Hunter without a second of thought, “You just need to spell it out to her that she’s not allowed to nab a drone… or all of them and bring them back here afterwards. That, or be ready to send a full squad to bring her back. You know how she gets around those little guys.”

“Then I’ll be sure to stress that she has to come back and do so without any extra cargo,” Luna snickers, “Although bringing 65536 a friend would-”

“No, bad Princess!” Hunter playfully throws today’s newspaper at her, “You get a second drone only when Queen Chrysalis sends one willingly.”

Luna shoots him the puppiest of puppy eyes.

“...sad Princess noises…”

“Don’t you dare wibble at me! I get enough of that from 65536. I’m wibble-proof.”

***

Far away to the southeast from Canterlot lies the Badlands region of Equestria, a desolate wasteland out of the purvey of even the bravest pegasus weather teams, where barely anything grows and all fauna has adapted to the lifestyle of eating anything it can chew, ensnare, melt, or afflict with other horrifying but natural fates. The location of the hill-sized, porous mound of strange black material marking the surface section of the changeling hive itself is known only to a minimal amount of outsiders, as Badlands exploration has never been considered worth the risk and effort past the edges of the area. Still, the mound is more a landmark for returning changelings than used living space, because with the exception of the throne room the real hive lies under the ground.

Nine levels below the ground lies a cavern unlike any other. Maybe it was natural at some point in the past, but that’s far gone. Now it rivals the throne room of Canterlot castle in sheer size. Just behind the double stone door marking the cavern’s entrance stand three stone statues forming a triangle, all depicting changeling drones with only a small plaque at the base of each reading “9999”, “The Guide”, and “High Score” respectively. At a first glance, anyone with passing knowledge of the changeling queen would consider this a blow to her ego because there is no statue of her anywhere in the hive. However, a critical second thought should follow that train of thought - if those statues are allowed to stand, how crucial to the hive they must have been? A comparison of grandeur, however, quickly fades with the statues because it’s clear that while the builders started with the idea of a cathedral-like interior they then added on anything their distracted minds thought of. Load-bearing, smooth pillars are scattered over the place seemingly at random, although they are doing their job well. The majority of the walls is covered in honeycomb-like alcoves often filled with various knick-knacks ranging from gems to normal rocks and sticks without any visible preference for either. Three levels of balconies line the rest of the cavern's walls, forming a U-shape accessible via a set of stairs on each end, seemingly for no reason other than to divide empty space. The only exception to this is a set of alcoves on the top floor at the center of the U, one being a wide vent leading upwards connected to a smaller one containing an old-fashioned, sturdy radio with a set of cables. The weirdest part of the cavern is there as well - a stone slide leading all the way down and slightly bending back up at its end in order to launch anything going down forward, likely into a pool full of green goo a short way ahead. The bottom floor is clearly the most used area of the “cathedral”, because there are currently about 70 changeling drones engaged in various peculiar activities which are for them to know and for Twilight to figure out.

Both wings of the entry door slide to the sides on stone rails with only a minimal amount of grinding, letting in a grey-maned changeling mare followed by the towering figure of Queen Chrysalis herself. Even before she says anything, every single drone looks at her, much to the Queen’s appreciative nod.

“Get over here and listen, derps!” she raises her voice so that even the group of drones contorted on a raised dais in the back can hear her, “The yoga class in the back stays in their position until I’m finished. Consider it a superset or whatever the foals are calling it these days. Is everyone here?”

A response comes immediately from one of the drones stretching in the back, although not via anyone’s mouth but rather through a mental connection open to everyone within reach:

“99200 is outside, 99111, 99450, 99818, and 99856 are in the back,” replies a drone whom its link identifies as 10k, “And the group that’s staying this worky time in the Guide’s Cavern can link up through 99380.”

“We can wait a second to give everyone time then,” Chrysalis nods. Four drones squeeze through a much heavier version of the main door but in the middle of the back wall moments later and rush over to the semi-circle of others gathered to listen to what the Queen has to say. Once they sit down, one of the trio nervously looks back again, which prompts Chrysalis to add: “You can listen through 99380 if you were experimenting with something that can collapse the whole cavern on us and needs your attention.”

99856 shakes its head and waves its hoof dismissively.

“I think the new sizzly goop will last a while unless something disturbs it.”

As if on cue, an unholy mix of screeching and roaring originating from the back rooms pierces the air, making the latecomers all look at one of them - 99818.

“And that was what?” asks Chrysalis, narrowing her eyes at the drone presumably responsible for… whatever just happened.

“Uh oh. It ‘maaay’ have escaped,” peeps 99818 as it turns around.

A massive explosion shakes the entire cavern, followed by the heavy back door falling from its guiding rails and a gradually fading horrifying screeching of pain and unmistakable death of… something not small.

“Aww holes,” says 99856 with a frown aimed at 99818, “That goop took me three breaky times to get right.”

“On the other hole, the problem solved itself,” 99818 looks back with an apologetic smile.

Chrysalis sighs. Why is every interaction with the drones so.. unique?

“I swear, 99818, if you get eaten - no love or digging for a week!” she points at the perpetrator.

“EEP?!” the drone sticks its chest out to sit at the best attention it can and freezes, barely daring to breathe.

Decidedly ignoring the thin plume of smoke now coming from the shot-out door, Chrysalis gets to her reason for visiting the drones personally.

“Deep-tunnel group, can you hear me?” she asks via the link provided by 99380. She could, of course, broadcast the message on her own, but why waste the energy when a perfectly good drone specialized for hive mind manipulation and communication exists.

“Loud and clear, Your Majesty!” comes the reply, “All of us down here.”

“Good. Our relationship with Equestria has been getting better for some time now, and I’ve finally found it reasonably safe to let you guys out for a little trip- yes?” she asks, seeing an immediately raised hoof.

“I sometimes trip over my hooves even down here,” reports the drone.

“Yes yes, try to do it less,” Chrysalis rolls her eyes, “Trip, in this case, means a mission. Nothing serious, just information gathering. You’ll go into the Crystal Empire, look around to find anything interesting, you won’t make ponies throw you out, and then you’ll come back and tell everyone what you saw.”

“Ohh, like the stories about shippy time!” one of the quicker-thinking drones refers to the time when the Queen took a group of drones on a cruise into a griffon holiday resort.

“Exactly!” Chrysalis nods, “This time, however, you won’t have an infiltrator or a warrior with you. Your guide, or a contact, will be Smiley and she will, technically, be in charge of the trip-”

*Raised hoof!*

“-Don’t get jealous now, 10k,” says Chrysalis, noticing whose hoof it is. While drones are visually almost indistinguishable from one another, 10k is one of the few exceptions due to grey surface scars all over its carapace looking like cracks. Thankfully, it’s just a visual reminder of past wounds.

“Oh no no no,” 10k shakes its head, “I’m just- that’s amazing! Our Smiley has grown so much and she knows the pony world. She’s the best for the job. I just wanted to ask if I’m allowed to go.”

Chrysalis briefly ponders it. Despite the hive’s limited population, she has infiltrators in every major city of Equestria, and a city state like the Crystal Empire obviously hasn’t eluded her attention. The crystal pony sentiment towards changelings is, by all measures, warmer than most of Equestria, yet there is always danger, especially to the drones. Losing 10k due to some unforeseen events would be problematic.

“Can I go too?” asks 99380 via a hive link, making Chrysalis wince on the inside.

That’s… worse. As important as 10k is, if something happened to 99380 it could cripple the general hive communication, or at least make it far more costly in terms of love. With how many potential and extremely specific special talents changeling genetics can produce, and with how little control over it even she has, a drone like 99380 might never appear again. From the Queen’s perspective, letting 99380 go is a bad idea with little to no benefits.

I keep saying how it was so much easier when I was evil, and I keep being right. I can just say no and they won’t even be mad, maybe a little disappointed but they’ll get over it quickly, they always do. They’ll be almost as happy hearing the stories about the trip afterwards as actually being there. I can just say no and make sure there’s no risk to the hive as a whole.

She sighs.

“Yes, anyone can go, even you two,” she says. Before the drones can say anything else, she raises her hoof and adds, “I don’t care how you decide who goes. In five days, I just want to know three numbers, hear no complaints, and there won’t be any hard feelings. Got it?”

Mass nodding ensues.

“Excellent. That’s all,” she turns around, “Yoga class can relax now,” she snickers as she hears several thumps of bodies falling on the ground and gasping for breath, “Mad scientists, go clean up after whatever exploded in the back immediately.”

Hoofsteps run off.

Smiling to herself, she leaves.

“SCUFFLESTICK TOURNEY FOR THE LAST SPOT!” someone calls out cheerfully, which is immediately answered by a chorus of ‘yeah!’ and ‘woo!’.

It’s good to know that 10k and 99380 have so much respect that no one even tried to dispute them having first pick, even if they just asked if they could go.

The grey-maned mare, who hasn’t said a word all this time and just silently accompanied her Queen, finally speaks out:

“Your Majesty, why haven’t you told them about the other side of the deal - about the visiting Princess and her-”

“Body research assistant?” Chrysalis snickers, “Come on, 156, where would be the fun in that? Let their first contact be… natural.”

***

While Queen Chrysalis’ briefing is going on, a single drone is inching along a ledge midway down a massive, upwards-narrowing crevasse reaching all the way from the surface where it is just a small crack in the ground to the unexplored depths below. It stops every few seconds, its hoofsteps perfectly silent thanks to a muffling transformation but its every movement still marked by very faint clinking caused by small scales layered atop a thick, spider-web cloak that’s covering the drone from its neck to its backside. It looks up when it hears a faint creak somewhere above, its teal, bioluminescent eyes the only visible part of its head otherwise covered by a hood and muzzle mask, both made from webbing as well, although without the scale layer. Not even a drone can see clearly much further than twenty or so pony lengths ahead in pitch blackness, but that’s the best it can get right now. Making glowgoop or any other source of light here would immediately alert a number of giant spiders perched on the sheets of thick webs criss-crossing the crevasse.

99200 draws its hood lower to better hide the glow of its eyes when it hears another creak and moves ahead. Thankfully, the ledge is more than wide enough for multiple drones, so it can entirely focus on listening for any signs of movement while it sneaks along the crevasse wall to where it ends in a sheer drop. The edge, however, is covered in grey, sticky webbing similar to 99200’s clothes, hinting at how those were made. The drone unlatches a simple wooden stick bent into a circle with corresponding notch on each end around its neck, and takes it off along with the cloak it’s holding so that it can spread its fly-like wings. It doesn’t move its wings immediately, instead spending a full five minutes slowly buzzing them in irregular intervals to let the spiders get used to the noise and wind pressure and grow to see those as a natural part of the environment. When no spiders come to check the new disturbance out, 99200 slowly flies a hoof length up, floats five pony lengths sideways into the open space, and grows a long, thin spike out of its foreleg with only a couple green sparks flashing along its carapace. After taking a moment to steady its breathing, muffled by the web mask, and listening for anything incoming with no result, the drone channels its digging ability into the spike which slices the sheet of webbing with zero resistance despite how tough the material in reality is.

The left part of the net drops much faster than 99200 expected along with a panicked screech and the flailing of something massive ripping the webs deeper into the crevasse as it falls. The drone winces, immediately flying back to the safety of the ledge.

Oops…

There’s no remorse to be found in 99200’s heart for any underground monsters that have eaten innumerable drones, though, and it quickly dons its protective cloak again before pulling up the part of the cut net that’s connected to the ledge’s edge. The sticky web immediately cocoons around the hooves of its forelegs, which is fine with the drone because it’s much easier to pull the heavy sheet all the way up without growing claws and worrying about grip strength. Once the whole cut part of the net is lying spread in front of 99200, it channels its digging into its forelegs just for a moment, disintegrating all the material around its hooves and freeing them.

Less webbing than I’d like, but good enough. The guys down in the Guide’s Cavern will be breathing a lot easier once we turn all this into muzzle masks. The deepest areas are full of weird fumes that make it hard to breathe, and High Score still hasn’t invented a nose transformation that makes being down there safe.

While folding the web into a single sticky bundle fit for transport, 99200‘s ears constantly twitch under its hood as the drone listens for any signs of trouble. The hood is making its hearing worse, but this isn’t 99200’s first expedition and it knows the spiders react much more aggressively to the light of its eyes so it’s a worthwhile trade-off. It helps that it doesn’t need to do any difficult loot preparation here - there are other drones who know how to process the web bundle into usable sheets.

When it’s almost finished, several small rocks bounce off of the ground by the wall to the right.

99200 looks up. Its hood slips and its eyes go wide.

Aggressive clicking accompanied by a quiet but high-pitched screech almost deafens the drone after so long in near-complete silence as more small rocks from the wall drop following a bulbous body many times 99200’s mass with eight legs, each longer than a drone stretched from its front hooves to its hind ones, lunging directly at it.

Faced with the final sight of thousands of drones before it, 99200 doesn’t freeze and jumps directly forward, following it with an immediate roll to the side and hiding its entire body under its strange cloak. It only has a moment to pull the edges of the cloak under itself, curl up, and harden its carapace.

Brick mode: on.

With its mobility limited due to the hardening, 99200 concentrates on slowing its breathing down. It can feel the mossy surface under its hooves as well as the grinding of the web on its back with each breath, yet the adrenaline makes its brain work overtime and focus on what’s important. In its experience, three things can happen now. One, the giant spider pokes 99200 a couple times, thinks it’s a rock, and leaves. Two, it tries to bite 99200 which the rumbler-scale cloak should help with, and leaves. Three, it tries to turn 99200 around to get to the presumed soft belly of its prey.

Sudden crushing weight from above makes the drone grunt as its carapace creaks and confirms option two. Thankfully, the spider’s mandibles fail to pierce the rumbler cloak and 99200 suffers only the pressure. The cloak grows heavier as the web gets sticky with the venom released by the spider.

You’ve been in this mess before, 99200. Keep your wits together and you’ll get out of here just with some bruises. The venom doesn’t melt the web so it won’t break the cloak and the webby spinner can’t bite through. It’ll just get a bit crushy.

The second that calming thought passes through the drone’s head, the spider’s massive leg shoves the poor bundled drone so hard it flips over on its side.

99200 gets a brief flash of the spider’s mass towering over it. It transforms out of brick mode so that it can move freely, and flips the cloak over itself again as the spider bites down again. Without the hardening, the carapace of its barrel cracks under the pressure, yet the mandibles still can’t pierce the rumbler scales.

99200 winces and grunts in pain shooting through its barrel with each of its sharp, shallow breaths.

This webby spinner is too persistent or too hungry to wait out.

The spider slides its leg along the cloak to get it out of the way. A hoof-sized, green ball rolls out from underneath it. 99200 rolls to the side so that the cloak is between the spider and itself. The spider bites the ball.

For the briefest moment, everything stops. Then the spider screeches, its noise quickly cut short by sudden fizzing accompanied by sharp, acrid smell.

*Thud!*

99200 rolls even further away, hitting the wall, and jumps to all fours with a hiss as pain shoots through it.

99856, you’re getting ALL THE HUGS for these experimental melties.

The spider is twitching on the spot as green foam devours its head and a good chunk of its main body before fizzing out into nothing. While that’s going on, 99200 just keeps looking around and listening with its hood drawn low again. It doesn’t know the right concepts to think “Giant spiders are highly territorial, even if their territory might be one net, and eat anything that’s not each other. That’s why nothing else should attack me right now and unless I see another spider I’m in the clear.”, it just knows it’s likely safe.

When nothing moves for a full minute, 99200 finds the web bundle that rolled away during the attack and moves it to the mouth of the tunnel it used to enter this crevasse. Next, it returns to the corpse of the spider and examines it from all sides.

Ooh, one of the bitey things survived. I wonder if someone can make something out of it.

Regrowing the hoof blade to channel digging through and make the sharpest scalpel possible, 99200 gets to dismantling the spider for parts. It really shouldn’t drag the whole body so far through the tunnels, and it knows it’ll be gone when it returns here again.

Legs - can’t go wrong with legs. Bitey thing - 99856 will want the venom. Carapace - 99000’s guys can always use extra armor. Chunks for… maybe someone will want those?

So many good parts and no way to carry them all.

I really should pick…

99200 sighs.

Several minutes later, the drone is dragging an incoherent mass of an entire butchered spider by two hairy legs glued to its backside using goop and making 99200 extremely uncomfortable with each shift and tickle. Yet it perseveres. Getting it all the way up to High Score Cavern alone is bound to take close to two hours, but the trading potential is immense.

I’m gonna get so many shinies!

“99200?” a message not connected to another drone but belonging to a hive mind entity known to the drones only as ‘Voice’ rings in the drone’s mind.

“Hi, Voice. What’s up?” replies 99200 internally while taking deep lungfuls of stale tunnel air as it drags the spider along.

“High Score wants to talk to you. It, 99380, and one drone currently being decided using a Scufflestick tournament will be going on a trip to the surface.”

“That’s okay, I don’t mind not going. There’s so much to explore down here.”

“High Score was expecting that, it wants you to be in charge of the drones while it’s away.”

Suddenly, the dead spider’s body and the legs tickling the drone are the least heavy weight on its barrel.

Author's Note

Was it worth the wait? no